by Mari Hannah
‘Oh?’
‘Husband died in an awful accident when she was in her forties. Eldest son committed suicide. Self-centred bastard shot himself in woods not far from here. Couldn’t cope.’
‘With what?’
‘Buggered if I know.’ His focus switched to the old woman. ‘People say things come in threes. Until now I didn’t believe them. I reckon she could do with a friendly face, a sympathetic ear. We’ve all been over, of course. You don’t like to intrude though, do you? Between you and me, I don’t think she’ll believe it’s him until she hears it from the horse’s mouth.’
Kate checked over her shoulder. ‘You mean us?’
‘Her daughter.’
Thanking the man, Kate asked Hank to finish up and drifted away, her stress level rising as she turned her attention to the boy’s grandmother. Denial was a natural reaction for those unfortunate enough to be affected by homicide. Families often clung to the false hope that the police might be mistaken, even though it was very rare that anyone was asked to ID a body that didn’t belong to them. Despite Control’s claim that the boy was Elliott Foster, Kate called the morgue to confirm it.
‘Formal identification is complete,’ she was told. ‘The parents are with DS Grant.’
The revelation made her angry. Consoling the family was no job for a newcomer. Atkins was a bastard. As SIO, he had no business delegating such a task. Seething, she punched in his number, but then hung up before he could answer, deciding to have it out with him face-to-face when she returned to the office.
Someone far more worthy needed her attention now.
As she approached the garden gate, Jane Gibson looked up, the rims of her eyes red raw through her spectacles, arthritic hands so tightly clasped around a stiff broom handle that her knuckles were white, almost protruding through her skin.
‘Are you lost, pet?’
‘No, Jane. I’m Detective Chief Inspector Kate Daniels. May we go inside?’
Realizing what was coming, the old lady pressed her lips together, trying to hang on to her emotions, her blue eyes turning icy, as if she blamed Kate for confirming bad news when it wasn’t her place to do so.
Leaning the broom up against the wall, the old lady put a shaky hand out to steady herself. For a moment, Kate thought she might keel over but she recovered quickly. ‘I don’t know about you,’ she said, ‘but I could do with some tea, Inspector. I’d really like it if you would join me.’
‘So long as you let me make it,’ Kate said.
In the tiny kitchen, Kate put the kettle on and made tea in a flowery pot. Jane took matching china cups and saucers from an overhead cupboard, then moved forward, covering the teapot with a thick, woollen tea cosy. Homemade, it reminded the DCI of her late grandmother, long knitting needles held firmly under her arms, clicking away so fast a young Kate’s eyes could hardly keep up with them.
‘Come through,’ Jane said.
Turning her back on Kate, she led the way into the living room, where a fire burned in the grate. Kate followed her in with tea on a tray, taking in photographs of Elliott Foster and another boy at various stages of development displayed around the room. This woman valued family above all else. Understandable if she’d suffered the losses suggested by the man Kate had met in the lane outside.
Wondering if the suicide of the victim’s uncle was connected in any way to Elliott Foster’s death, Kate sat down, parking the thought for later. Jane Gibson poked the fire, then settled in a well-used armchair, the motorized kind that had the ability to lift and recline. On this occasion, the facility was redundant.
She wouldn’t be relaxing anytime soon.
In more recent photographs, the older boy was in military uniform. Assuming this to be Elliott’s older brother, Kate wondered if he’d been told the grim news yet. She hoped he had and was on his way home to comfort Jane. It was unfortunate that he lived abroad. It might take forever for him to materialize. The old lady needed him now.
‘I’m so very sorry for your loss,’ Kate said.
Jane shifted her gaze to the mantelpiece. ‘He’ll be devastated.’
‘His brother?’
She nodded.
‘They were close?’
‘Inseparable.’
‘I’m an only child,’ Kate said, for want of something more appropriate.
Jane forced a smile. ‘Me too.’
They drank tea and talked about her youngest grandson, what kind of lad he was, a general chat about the things he liked to do outside of Cumberland wrestling: playing the guitar, basketball and fishing. When the time was right, Kate moved the conversation on to more personal matters, asking how he came to be living with Jane. The reason given was much as she expected: acrimonious divorce of parents, both of whom needed to work, leaving the old lady quite literally holding the baby – or, more accurately, two.
‘Can I ask when you last saw Elliott?’
Jane’s alert eyes flew back to the mantelpiece. ‘About quarter to six yesterday.’
Following her gaze, Kate’s eyes drifted slightly left of the clock where a silver cup sat proudly. ‘Elliott came straight here after the show?’
Jane’s eyes filled up.
‘Take your time,’ Kate said. ‘There’s no hurry.’
It was vital that she trace the victim’s movements, but not at the expense of upsetting his grandmother. The fact that she’d seen him after he won his bout was helpful to the DCI, narrowing the gap between the end of the show and the discovery of his body.
‘He went out straight afterwards,’ Jane said quietly.
‘Did he say where?’
‘To see Richard.’
‘And he is . . . ?’
‘Elliott’s best friend.’
‘Do you know Richard’s surname?’ Kate took a pen and small notepad from her pocket and flipped open the cover, poised to take down a name.
‘Hedley,’ Jane said. ‘He’s a good boy. He lives in Elsdon.’
‘Do you have an address by any chance?’ She did and Kate wrote it down, along with directions to the house. On the way to Alwinton, she’d passed through Elsdon, a village she knew well. She looked up from her notebook. ‘Did Elliott drive or take the bus?’
‘He has a pushbike,’ Jane said.
Kate scribbled:
FIND THE BIKE!
‘I don’t suppose you know the make and colour? It’s just, there was no bike found near the discovery site.’
‘Give me a moment.’ The old lady stood up and walked across the room to a Welsh dresser on the far wall. She opened a drawer, pulling out photographs, handing one to Kate. It showed Elliott posing with his bike for the camera. ‘He got it for Christmas off his mum,’ Jane said. ‘Extravagant, I know.’ Her expression hardened. ‘My daughter has a guilty conscience.’
Kate made a mental note to return to that. She was keen to concentrate on Elliott’s movements before Jane Gibson tired of all the questions. ‘What exactly did Elliott do when he came home?’
‘Not much. He had a quick bite to eat and left straight after.’
‘What kind of mood was he in?’
‘A good one. Having won at the show, he was as high as a kite. Richard never made it this year. He was working and couldn’t take part. He’s a wrestler too. Elliott was keen to get over there and rub his nose in it.’ Registering Kate’s vigilance, the old lady paused. Backtracked. ‘I didn’t mean, you mustn’t think . . . It was healthy rivalry, Chief Inspector. Nothing they would fight over. They’ve been as thick as thieves since junior school. Well, not thieves—’
‘Jane, relax. I know what you meant.’ Kate’s mind sifted this new information. Jealousy was a motive for many a catastrophic falling out. So was greed. But Jane seemed so sure that the two lads were the best of friends. Kate’s eyes drifted to the clock. ‘Did Elliott tell you what time he was due to meet Richard?’
‘Half past.’
‘Half past six?’ Kate asked.
‘Yes, I think that’s what he said. I wasn’t payi
ng attention. I was making him a sandwich and listening to the last few pages of an audio book. I prefer being read to now. My eyes get so dry.’
An image of white tights entered Kate’s head. ‘Did Elliott take a shower before he went out?’
‘No. He was running late.’
‘And that’s the last time you saw or heard from him?’
Jane welled up again.
Her tears were all the answer Kate required.
Leaving Jane to grieve alone, having declined the offer of a family liaison officer, the DCI let herself out. She walked to the grassy area where she’d parked the car, several pairs of eyes fixed to her back as she moved towards her vehicle, her attendance in Alwinton already telegraphed to those at home.
She felt sorry for this small community. A larger one might absorb the grief of losing a young lad from their midst. Kate had the distinct impression that this one would not. People here would go on remembering, torturing themselves, suspicious of each other, until whoever killed the boy was found and punished. For some, life here would never be the same.
8
They drove back the way they’d come, with the intention of tracing Elliott Foster’s best friend, Richard Hedley. Hank was alert but uncommunicative. Unusual. He liked nothing better than a good natter about life, their current case and office politics. Kate hoped he wasn’t still fretting over the row with his son, or the injury woes he claimed he didn’t have.
There was no answer at Richard Hedley’s door.
Hoping to track him down, they separated with an agreement to rendezvous at the car after a sweep of village homes. When Hank failed to materialize half an hour later, Kate completed another circuit of the village before heading to the Bird in the Bush. As she’d suspected, he was propping up the bar.
From the threshold, she observed the room. Coats and hats hung from pegs on the wall to her right, above a church pew where weary travellers could rest and remove muddy boots. It was a long bar with a large flat-screen TV, wall-mounted, high above the head of the man serving the drinks. A row of tables and chairs sat beneath the windows and there was a pool table at the far end of the room. In terms of temperature, it was warm inside but the atmosphere was chilly. Like the pub in Alwinton, the mood was subdued.
‘Where the hell have you been?’ Kate whispered as she approached Hank from behind. ‘I’ve been all over looking for you.’
He swung round on his bar stool. ‘You should’ve called.’
‘I did,’ she said through gritted teeth. ‘Couldn’t get a signal.’
‘Actually, I switched it off to interview a witness.’
Kate’s ears pricked up. ‘Witness to what?’
‘Ah, now you’re interested.’ He held up a menu. ‘You want a sandwich?’
‘No. Get on with it, Hank. We haven’t got all day.’
‘There was a disturbance in the village last night.’ Hank flicked his eyes to a guy standing with his back to them – a big man wearing a brown Barbour jacket and heavy-duty wellington boots, two Border terriers at his feet. Hank pointed towards a table in the corner, a suggestion that she should take a pew.
Kate nodded.
He held out his hand before she had a chance to move. ‘He doesn’t say much unless you’re buying.’
‘Get ’em in, then, and bring him over.’ She handed over a twenty-pound note and walked away.
Hank ordered another round, then tapped his witness on the shoulder, asking if he minded stepping away from the bar for a brief chat with his boss. Nodding, the man picked up the fresh pint Hank placed in front of him, supped an inch of the amber liquid, nudged his dogs with his left foot and charted a course to a table near the window.
As he walked towards Kate, she noticed the eyes of other regulars following him across the room, a few muted comments passing between them.
‘This is DCI Kate Daniels,’ Hank said.
The man grunted a hello.
Kate extended a hand. ‘Thanks for your time, Mr . . . ?’
‘Willis. Matthew.’ Ignoring the proffered hand, he wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his jacket. ‘People call me Stan.’
She didn’t ask why. ‘Take a seat.’
Willis had the expression of a deeply troubled individual. She wondered if he was a relative of the boy, but kept it to herself. She would raise it when the time was right. If she was any judge, the big guy was a manual worker. He had a weather-beaten face riddled with purple thread veins, a bulbous nose and cautious, if not unfriendly eyes. It was easy to form the impression that he was capable of losing his temper if riled. Or was he anti-police – like her old man?
‘My DS tells me you heard a disturbance last night.’
A nod was all the answer she received. When Willis failed to elaborate, Kate leaned back in her chair, crossed her arms and waited. This was going to take longer than she had time for.
‘You live in Elsdon, Mr Willis?’
‘All my life.’
‘Good. That means you’re familiar with the place. I’m guessing it’s fairly quiet round here. I bet you don’t get much trouble out this way.’ He didn’t confirm or deny it. ‘What exactly did you hear?’
‘Not much.’
‘I’m going to need specifics, sir.’
‘Kids yelling,’ he mumbled.
‘So no biggie – is that what you’re saying?’
Willis shrugged.
Kate exchanged an invisible roll of the eyes with Hank, an unspoken message passing between them. If she was buying this witness beer, she expected information in return, and would make damned sure she got her money’s worth. Taking her cue, Hank put down his pint and took over. Kate was hoping Willis might respond differently man to man, but after a few more questions, it soon became apparent that she was way off the mark.
When she spoke again, her tone was clipped, her loss of patience on show. ‘You’re hardly pushing the boat out here, Mr Willis. I’m sure you realize that we don’t have time to waste.’
‘Me either,’ he said.
‘So why bother mentioning a disturbance unless you’re prepared to talk about it? I may be wrong but the mere fact that you’ve spoken to my DS would suggest that you think it has something to do with the incident we’re dealing with a few miles down the road.’
‘Maybe.’ Willis had almost downed his beer. If he thought he was getting another before he started playing ball, he could think again.
‘What time was this?’ Kate asked.
‘Couldn’t say. I’d had a couple of pints.’ He noticed her checking out his wrist. ‘Never wear one. I don’t work a nine-to-five job. Time is unimportant to me. It was dark, if that’s any use to you. There was a bit of a ruckus over by the church, that’s all. It got a bit heated. If I had to guess, I’d say it was around sevenish.’
Kate peered out of the window, her focus on the spire of St Andrew’s Church across the village green. Picture-postcard pretty, the sight reminded her of a school history lesson. If her memory served her correctly it was the same church where William Winter’s victim had been buried long ago. Had Willis seen much from that distance in the dark?
There were a few streetlights . . .
Even so, it was a fair way.
Kate turned to face him. ‘Inside or outside the churchyard?’
‘No idea. I heard it. Didn’t see it.’
‘This was well after the show, I presume?’
‘As I said, it was dark.’ He glanced at her feet. ‘You can’t have city folks stumbling round in the dark, can you? Might spoil their pretty shoes.’ Kate ignored the dig. Willis pushed a little further. ‘Boots is what you need up here, not fancy footwear that’s neither use nor ornament to anyone.’ His eyes drifted towards the TV. ‘Come to think of it, the news had just finished on that thing.’
‘And you were where exactly when you became aware of it?’
He head-pointed towards the pub’s main entrance. ‘Walking out that door.’
‘Going where?’
‘That way.’ His finger indicated south of the village.
Kate felt one of the terriers shift position under the table, rub its head on her calf and go back to sleep on her foot. Not surprising. The heat from the radiator was ridiculous. She was feeling drowsy herself. A publican’s ploy to get his customers to drink more, she wondered, or merely a considerate landlord who knew how cold it was on the surrounding fells?
Her focus was on Willis again. ‘That way is home, I presume?’
‘Where else would I be going?’
‘So you had no need to walk past the church?’ Hank cut in.
‘Why would I?’ He said it as if the question had been stupid.
Kate took over again. It wouldn’t do to aggravate a witness she suspected had more to give. Not yet, anyway. ‘You didn’t think it was worth having a word with the kids to take the heat out of the situation? I reckon I might have, to keep the peace, in case someone got hurt.’ She paused, wondering if he’d done that. There were a few nasty grazes on his knuckles; recent too, if she wasn’t mistaken.
‘You’re a copper,’ he said. ‘I’m not.’
‘Not your business then?’
‘Correct.’
She pointed at the scratches on his hands. ‘Mind telling me how you came by those?’
‘Occupational hazard.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Drystone walling without gloves.’
‘You should be more careful.’ Kate said. ‘Did you watch television when you got home?’
‘Don’t have one.’
‘OK, we’ll leave it there, for now.’ Turning to Hank, Kate asked a question designed to unsettle the local man. ‘Do you have Mr Willis’s address, should we need to interview him formally?’
Hank confirmed he had. ‘Phone number too?’
‘Don’t have one of those either,’ Willis cut in. ‘That’s why I didn’t call the law.’
‘One last question, if I may.’ Kate watched for a reaction. ‘Do you happen to know Elliott Foster?’
‘I know his older brother better. He drinks in here when he’s home on leave. He’s a good kid.’
‘But you do know Elliott?’
‘Not any more.’ Willis got up and left the table. He made his way to the bar without a backward glance. Hank saw off his pint, got to his feet and led the way to the door. The interview was over.